


[day 1] crinkled pages

by ohworm (owolivia)



Series: TWDG Drabble Challenge [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Hurt No Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Past Events, Nostalgia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Tumblr Prompt, angst man, clem can't sleep, twdg drabble challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owolivia/pseuds/ohworm
Summary: She knows why she's here.Or rather why she's awake.





	[day 1] crinkled pages

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of the drabble challenge by stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale!
> 
> Prompt: Scar

Clementine never really liked the dark. Whether it was watching the shadows swallow sunlight or feeling the bear paws of night embrace her when her parents turned off the lights, it was always scary and she just preferred the day. And the dislike never really went away. It started off as a normal childhood fear - it was honestly her own fault. She stumbled into the living room late at night, watching with big eyes as the TV screen suddenly lit up and a monster jumped out of the dark - and it stayed that way until much later. Turning from the fear of a pair of eyes staring back at her was she to bend over and look under her bed into the terror of a walker creeping up behind her while she had no idea at all. 

It feels kind of silly now, she notes as she stares out the barricaded window. Clementine would much rather have to worry about those things, like a spider in her hair or the scary sounds of the wind as it played with her curtains. She'd prefer crying about horror movies instead of crying over the ones she lost. She would prefer ice-skating with her parents instead of the memory of her slow, short steps, arms held out in front of her as she creeps closer and closer, the ice slowly cracking and she's suddenly enveloped in ice-cold water. 

She looks at AJ who's - thank god - sleeping soundly in his bed. She finds comfort in his steady breathing, a sound she longed to hear so long ago, thinking he was dead. A candle sits on their table, cold and dark, serving no use for now. If she lit it, would it wake AJ up? Well, he did have his back to her, so probably not. 

Clementine doesn't want to risk it though. She picks it up and slowly walks to the door, looking back at AJ briefly before leaving her room. The candle is lit as soon as possible, the warm glow bouncing off of the cracked walls of the school hallway. Before she knows it, she finds herself outside, sitting down on the stone porch. It's cold and uncomfortable, but it's way better than the muddy forest floor. 

The wax is starting to melt as she shifts and before it can burn her hand, she puts the candle down and puts her palms around the flame to make sure the wind won't put it out. It's not much - a tiny candle won't bring much light - but it's definitely better. She doesn't know when she last saw a candle, but it was a nice surprise when she received some from Louis. Another one of those things from before that was rare these days. Honestly, if someone told her when she was eight that candles would be a rarity one day, she'd laugh in their face. 

Clementine looks off into the dark. She squints and tries to focus on the odd shapes in the distance. For a second she feels like she's back in her bed, deciding if the odd shadow is a person that broke into her room or if it's just the pile of clothes on her chair. She takes a deep breath.

She knows why she's here.

Or rather why she's awake.

It's not like it's a rare occurrence, she always had trouble sleeping. It was one of those things that came naturally along with the heightened senses, unprovoked attacks of panic, an instinct of distrust... those were the things on the inside. The reminders of what she's been through that only she knows about, that only she can see. She'd never let anyone see it - not AJ, not any of her old companions, and definitely not these new guys. It was a battle of her own, secrets that she decided who knew, things about her that only the people she trusted the most would know. But this time, it's different.

It's not just the usual nightmare or bad thought, or perhaps a flashback. It's something else, something _worse_, she dares say, that's keeping her up. It's not the grief and guilt, images of her friends getting torn apart by the undead. No, it's not that. It's not the usual train of thought about how much would change if she were better or if she were smarter, less naive. No, not that either.

This time, it's the physical things.

It's the pages in the book that are crinkled and torn. They're damaged and anyone can see them, anyone can see the damage and scoff and say, 'Wow, you're so careless, aren't you?'. It's the pages that everyone focuses on the most no matter what because those are the pages that stand out. And no matter how much someone can try and fix them, smoothen out the wrinkles, tape together the tears... they'll always stay that way.

Clementine once heard that time heals all wounds, but it's not true. Not these wounds. Not yet. The wounds close and scab over and eventually leave a pinkish, ugly scar, but they never fully heal. They hurt less and less but the pain is still there, (the force of a powerful jaw full of sharp teeth on her arm, the slamming of a car door on her finger, the shining hot metal caressing her skin), and it will never go away. 

The attempt at sleep was there. She laid in bed for hours, tossing, turning, but she couldn't get the smell of smoke and burning wood out of her nose, the freezing feeling out of her body, the fear and stress pooling in her stomach. The poorly stitched bite weirdly rubs against the blanket, the missing finger causes her grip on her pillow to feel weird and unnatural, the brand on her arm resists her jacket and keeps picking up loose threads. But the outside isn't any better, doesn't offer any more comfort.

It's not the memories or the trauma that's keeping her from slipping into sleep. It's the knowledge that she has scars both mental and physical, and no matter how hard she'll try, they'll always be there to haunt her and remind her that they'll never go away.


End file.
